


Crass Enough to Care

by vague_ambition



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Enjolras/Grantaire-centric, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, POV switches between Enjolras and Grantaire, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, This got so out of control, may involve character death, may not, musical compliant, somewhat canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4918483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vague_ambition/pseuds/vague_ambition
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras had always assumed that he wouldn't get the soulmate tattoo on his twenty first birthday. With the revolution drawing so near, he didn't have time for romance. If they failed, he would die, and nobody new would even speak to him. If they didn't, he would be so focused on establishing the new Republic that it wouldn't matter. </p>
<p>Grantaire thought Enjolras already had his tattoo. He told them all that he was twenty-six, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The ABC Cafe/Red & Black

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is very much musical compliant, to the point of using the lyrics in conversation. Because of this, it is not 100% Brick compliant.
> 
> Warnings for some (possibly temporary) character death later on. Also, as in any Soulmate AU, there's some consent issues, but nothing unique to this fic. 
> 
> I wrote it in modern English, because that's how I think, but it is set in 1832. 
> 
> I don't have a beta, so if you see any errors, let me know!  
> Title from the ever amazing Frank Turner's "Love, Ire, and Song".

**Enjolras**

Enjolras didn’t tell anyone what day it was. Combeferre and Courfeyrac knew, of course – one of the many side effects of over ten years of friendship – but none of Les Amis were aware. He wanted to keep it that way for two reasons. First, they were all under the impression that he was a young-looking twenty six. Only the trimuvate knew that he was only just about to turn twenty-one. Second, his friends would not hesitate to make a large fuss about his birthday. Especially if they knew it was his twenty-first. With the state of the country and all their preparations, they couldn’t afford such a distraction.

The revolution was so close he could taste it. He knew he was not likely to live if they didn’t succeed. If he could not bring forth a new republic, he fully intended to become a martyr for The Cause. And even if – when – they did win, he was not one for trivial romantic pursuits. Thus, he was surprised when he awoke the morning of May 31, 1832, his twenty first birthday, to a burning sensation on his shoulder.

He had a soulmate.

Perhaps it shouldn’t be such a surprise – almost ninety percent of the population did have one, after all. Sometime during their twenty-first birthday, anyone who had a soulmate would feel a burning sensation somewhere on their body and would be permanently branded with the first words that their soulmate would say directly and exclusively to them after they were both “of age”, in their soulmate’s handwriting. Supposedly, their soulmate would be perfect for them. Supposedly, they were destined to fall in love. The unlucky few without a soulmate, whom Enjolras had already assumed he would be a part of, were left to find solace in each other, without true love.

True love.

He thought he would die before he met his soulmate, or else, he would not have one. Who would want him as a soulmate, after all? Who would want someone so completely focused, willing to die, willing to give up everything, for a revolution? He did not socialize well, his only friends were mostly paired up with each other. How could he even meet the person who would say – wait.

What would they say?           

He jumped up from his bed and went to the one mirror he had in the house, tugging down the collar of his bed shirt nervously. Scrawled messily across his collarbone were the words “g _ive me brandy on my breath and I’ll breathe them all to death.”_

Okay then.

It probably wasn’t anyone he knew. It wasn’t anyone he hoped it would be. Not that there was really anyone to hope for. His friends were mostly bonded: Courfeyrac and Combeferre, Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta, Bahorel and Feuilly, Grantaire and Jehan. That only left Marius, and Enjolras knew he would never say words like Marius’s. Not that Pontmercy wasn’t a perfectly nice person, but Enjolras would rather die than have him as a soulmate.

Well, he was fairly certain that Grantaire and Jehan were soulmates. They had never said as much – neither had ever mentioned soulmates to him at all, nor had he ever seen any physical affection, but he was sure that they had been drawn to each other since the first time they spoke. And even if they weren’t, Grantaire hated him. He was purposefully disruptive, he constantly argued with him (albeit intelligently), he was perpetually drunk…

Enjolras’s words had to do with drinking.

The words were a little concerning, as he was generally against alcohol. A little voice in his head couldn’t help but remind him of paint flecked hands wrapped around an absinthe bottle and crooked smiles, but he tried to shut it down and go back to analyzing his words. He knew that the words did not necessarily indicate much about the person. For instance, Bahorel had “ _well aren’t you a ginormous fucker?”_ stenciled down his spine, but Feuilly wasn’t usually one to swear. Except, apparently, when he was drunk. On the other hand, Combeferre had _“this is the greatest day of my life!”_ spelled out on his hand, a statement which Courfeyrac probably made every other day. Enjolras supposed that he would just have to withhold judgment until he met the man.

**Grantaire**

Grantaire woke up with a throbbing head and a dry mouth, sensations as common as morning breath to him.  Almost on reflex, he reached for the bottle by his bedside and brought it to his lips. To his dismay, it had been filled with water.

“Jehan?” he called, heaving himself into sitting position. “Are you here?”

“In the bathroom!” came the too-loud reply. Grantaire groaned, dutifully drinking his water.  It was not uncommon for his friend to switch his alcohol with water once he was maudlin enough. 

“Any luck last night?” Grantaire asked, out of habit.

“Any luck, ever?” Jehan shot back, the familiar tone of dejection almost indiscernible.

Grantaire was accustomed to not remembering much of his nights, and Jehan was not usually one to get completely drunk in public. Thus, when they went out, Jehan kept careful track of what Grantaire said to his new acquaintances, double checking that nobody told him to put the bottle down. It was doubtful that anyone ever would at the bars they frequented.

In a group as coupled as Les Amis de l’ABC, Jehan and Grantaire had bonded over their still-ongoing searches for their soulmates. At first, Grantaire had wanted to find that person as much as everyone else. Now, he was certain that nobody was awful enough to deserve being saddled down with him. Now, he was not even sure if he wanted to find his soulmate.

Of course, his friends may have thought the same thing at one point, but now they were tidily matched up and together, in almost cliché ways.

Joly and Bossuet had known each other since they were children, and had begun dating in secret when they were only sixteen. Joly, the younger of the two, had apparently lived in terror until he turned twenty-one and saw the words “ _happy birthday, my love”_ scrawled on his knee. Bossuet, for his part, had “ _it is now”_ on his index finger. They were both surprised to find “ _pardon me, boys, but your love is in the way of my wine”_ on their feet in matching print; polyamorous soulmates were uncommon enough that they had never heard of them until their kissing was apparently not stationary enough for a girl next to them in a bar. Musichetta, the girl in question, had “ _wait, you’re our soulmate!”_ from Bossuet and _“we have those words!”_ from Joly.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre had also known each since probably the beginning of time. Apparently they had been talking as Courfeyrac turned twenty one; some part of the conversation had led to him proclaiming that it was the greatest day of his life. Combeferre’s response, apparent on Courfeyrac’s chest, was “ _wait holy shit Courf – did you turn twenty-one in the past few seconds?”_

Feuilly had met Bahorel on one of the few occasions he was drunk, and had apparently been unable to filter out a comment on Bahorel’s size. He was 6’5’’ to Feuilly’s 5’9’’, so it made sense. Bahorel had responded with a laugh and the comment _“only because you’re fucking puny.”_ They had met three years ago – after which Feuilly dragged Bahorel to a Les Amis meeting, and Bahorel consequently persuaded Grantaire to go.

Marius, Jehan, and Grantaire all hadn’t found their soulmates. Marius’s was appropriately romantic for his sappy personality. Written in loopy script above his heart was “ _a heart full of love, no fear, no regret.”_ Jehan’s was a little more ambiguous, the simple statement “ _I’m so sorry, citizen.”_ While Grantaire had basically given up hope or desire to find his soulmate, both Jehan and Marius were rays of verifiable sunshine and hope.

Enjolras’s tattoo was a topic of speculation among Les Amis when they had all had a few drinks without him. Nobody knew what it was, or if it even existed. Nobody knew if he had found his soulmate or if he even cared to. Grantaire had joked more than once that it was just the lyrics to “La Marseillaise”, as the only thing Enjolras cared about was Patria.  He noticed, though, that Courfeyrac and Combeferre never seemed to offer suggestions.

Grantaire shook himself out of his thoughts of soulmates – trying to figure out who Enjolras was destined to be with only wanted him to drink. Jehan walked out of the bathroom, looking tired but no worse for the wear.

“Did you hear?” he asked. Grantaire just looked at him, waiting for the elaboration. “General Lamarque is getting worse.”

Grantaire knew then that he would meet his soulmate soon.  He was going to die any day now, after all.

But did he even want to meet them?

**Enjolras**

“Happy birthday!” Enjolras was startled out of his mirror-gazing reverie by Courfeyrac and Combeferre entering his room.

“You got it?” asked Courfeyrac excitedly, looking at the line of text on Enjolras’s collarbone. “What does it say?” Enjolras moved closer to them so they could read it, feeling as though he would jinx it if he was to say it out loud.

“Interesting,” commented Combeferre as he read it. Enjolras looked at him questioningly, just barely catching a glimpse of something in his friends’ faces as they read the words.

“What?” he asked them, suddenly more concerned than when he first read his words. Neither of them replied, Courfeyrac looking uncharacteristically pensive. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” said Combeferre finally. “I’m just surprised by them.”

“I figured the fact that I got them so close to the revolution bodes well for us,” Enjolras began, babbling out of sheer nervousness at their reactions. “It means I probably won’t die in the next couple weeks – I need at least enough time to meet my soulmate and have this conversation.”

“Perhaps.” Combeferre replied mysteriously. Enjolras glanced at him again, but it was clear that he was not going to elaborate.

“I’m so happy for you!” Courfeyrac exclaimed, shaking off his previous silence. Indeed, he looked almost deliriously happy.

“What’s going on?” Enjolras asked again, concerned by their erratic behavior. He was certainly not imagining it this time when they exchanged a look, nor when they changed the subject.

“Lamarque is sicker.” Combeferre told him. “Our time is drawing closer.” Enjolras looked between the two one more time, before deciding to focus his attentions on the more pressing issue of the revolution rather than his soulmate.

“I want to take to the streets near the poorer side of town, get the people’s attention.” Enjolras decided. “What do you think?”

“Take Marius with you.” Courfeyrac suggested. “You’re a pretty boy, it isn’t safe by yourself.”

“I doubt it would be safer with Marius.” He scoffed.

“It might be – he knows some people in the area who could help you out if need be.”

Enjolras sighed and resigned himself to hanging out with Marius.

**Grantaire**

“Although I’m sure our fearless leader will hate me for it, I’m skipping any meetings we have today.” Grantaire told Jehan.

“We don’t have any meetings today for whatever reason. What is so urgent that you’d miss a meeting?” he asked.

“If Lamarque is getting sicker, that means that Apollo is raring to go. I give it a week, two at the absolute most, before we begin building our barricades. I give it an hour after that before we die. I want to make sure I’ve done something with my parents’ money, make sure my sister gets it.”

“We may yet win, Grantaire.” Jehan reminded him, his voice raising in a rare display of irritation. “In fact, I believe we will.”

“And I believe we won’t.” Grantaire said gently. “For what it’s worth, Jean Prouvaire, I hope you’re right. I’m not quite ready to lose any of you yet.”

Five hours later, Grantaire was heading back home when he heard someone call his name. He turned around to see Courfeyrac jogging towards him.

“Courfeyrac! To what do I owe the pleasure?” He said, a little surprised. He and Courfeyrac were fairly close, but he had hardly seen the other man outside of meetings in the past few weeks.

“Do I need a reason to greet one of my best friends?” Courfeyrac grinned, slinging his arm around Grantaire’s shoulders.

“I suppose not. Are you busy?”

“Unfortunately, I have to go make sure Enjolras didn’t kill Marius. They went out today to try to boost our support.”

“And how is our fearless leader today?” Grantaire asked, trying to seem casual. Courfeyrac’s face spasmed in a strange way at this question. He had never been good at hiding his emotions, so he rarely bothered around his friends. It was unusual enough that Grantaire was concerned and dropped all pretense. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Courfeyrac said quickly. “Have you seen him today? When was the last time you talked to him?” The quick questions did nothing to ease Grantaire’s concern.

“I don’t know, not since the end of the last meeting,” Grantaire answered. “What’s wrong? There’s something wrong, you wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

“I swear, Enjolras is perfectly fine.” Grantaire searched Courfeyrac’s face for any indication that he was lying, but he seemed to be perfectly sincere.

“If you say so.” Grantaire might not believe Courfeyrac, but Enjolras’s life was really none of his business. If he was actually in trouble, Courf would say something.

“I need to get going, make sure Enj doesn’t commit murder quite yet.” Courfeyrac broke the silence, waving as he began walking away. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Grantaire watched him walk away, sighing.

He knew it wasn’t his business to worry about Enjolras, or how he was doing, or what he was doing, or anything of the sort. But it was just like looking at him – he couldn’t seem to help himself. Grantaire was an addict, and Enjolras was his favorite drug. Grantaire could never quite tear his eyes away as Enjolras paced back and forth in front of them (above him), ranting and raving about the bourgeoisie. He couldn’t stop when they began arguing, loving the fact that he could keep Enjolras’s brilliant (albeit terrifying) gaze on him for longer than a glance.

And that was it, wasn’t it? The real reason he didn’t really want to meet his soulmate. He didn’t want the universe to plop someone in front of him to love – he was already in love. He knew who he wanted to be with, and hearing the words curled around his hip wouldn’t change that. But he knew it would never happen, and he would spend his life (what was left of it) pining for a golden, untouchable god. Even if Enjolras deigned to give him the time of day, he knew he wasn’t Enjolras’s soulmate. And there was the other reason he didn’t want to meet his soulmate: He wouldn’t love his soulmate in the way that the deserved, he didn’t have enough love left over from his all-consuming care for Enjolras to give them that. He knew he would meet his soulmate, though, and probably soon. The fact that he had words meant that they would be spoken before he died and at the rate this revolution planning was going, that would be any day now.

The next day, Grantaire took extra care to get to the meeting early to try to figure out what had been bothering Courfeyrac about Enjolras. It was just a perk that punctuality meant he was half a bottle of wine in before Enjolras even got there – almost enough drink to handle the golden Apollo in all his glory. His hopes of talking to Courfeyrac were dashed the moment he walked in, as it was almost completely shop talk. He supposed they were a little close to the rebellion to be worrying about little things.

Enjolras strode in exactly on time, as he was wont to do, and was instantly mobbed by people reporting to him. As Grantaire listened, he couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of dread. The more they said, the more serious this all became. Sections preparing at Notre Dame, more at Rue de Bac – it felt as if they were truly marching into war. The fear that Grantaire had been fighting off since he first joined their merry band, the fear of losing his friends, of losing Enjolras, hit him hard.

He deflected it with humor and alcoholism, as per usual, drinking when he was told not to, drinking when anyone looked away.

When Marius stumbled in, looking as if he had just been hit by a hammer, he thought Marius must’ve met his soulmate. And he could have, but there was no way of knowing, as Marius didn’t seem to have spoken to her. Grantaire could help but be relieved – if Marius had not heard his words, he might yet survive the insurrection. Marius, more than any of them, would be able to move on from the idealism.

Grantaire had been over the idealism since the first time he heard it, but he had no intention of surviving the revolution if his friends (if Enjolras) didn’t.

 “Have you asked of yourselves what price you might pay?” Enjolras asked the group at large, angry at their frivolousness. He glanced at Grantaire as he said this and Grantaire’s heart sank – he knew what price he might pay, the price he would pay. Enjolras. Not that Enjolras was his, by any means, but he would lose him. He was willing to pay any price other than that, but he had no choice.

He couldn’t ignore the undeniable attraction as Enjolras rallied them, couldn’t help himself from attempting to rile Enjolras up further by egging Marius on, in the hopes that the leader’s piercing blue gaze would be turned towards him. He drank as Enjolras responded, drank as the other man attempted (and succeeded, for the most part) to incite revolutionary fervor with his cries of “red!” and “black!”, he drank if only to tear his eyes away from Enjolras.

It all happened in a second.

One moment, Enjolras was poised on the brink of the rebellion, a marble statue frozen in a moment of pure passion, convinced he would succeed. The next, he was back to being the formidable commander, barking orders and checking reports. Grantaire was slinking into the shadows of the café best he could, drinking his wine straight from the bottle and not saying a word, when Enjolras rounded on him, his furious blue eyes only centimeters away from Grantaire.

“Grantaire, put the bottle down!” he ordered, their eyes meeting for only a moment. Grantaire didn’t register what had happened, merely responded on reflex.

“Give me brandy on my breath and I’ll breathe them all to death!” He retorted, and then stopped suddenly, realization hitting him.

Had Enjolras just said…? It couldn’t be.

He heard a sharp intake of breath from Jehan, who knew Grantaire’s words as well as his own. Enjolras had really said the sentence imprinted on his hip. His head shot up to meet Enjolras’s shocked gaze.

**Enjolras**

Enjolras stood impassioned, his spirits bolstered his friends’ response to his speech. He allowed himself one moment to revel in the feeling, one moment of emotion over the fact that what he had planned for so long was finally happening before he switched back to the planning itself.

As he turned to his friends to continue their preperations, he noticed Grantaire taking another long swig from his wine bottle. It must’ve been the hundredth in the past ten minutes alone.

Why was he always drinking? He was so brilliant, even when he was surrounded by empty wine and absinthe bottles. If he just stopped drinking so much, maybe he could be even more aware, even more intelligent – he could be the best of them. Maybe not in terms of revolution – Enjolras knew that his cynicism didn’t come from the bottle – but in other ways.

He needed to focus on the revolution. Not on any tattoos, not on anyone’s drinking, not on Grantaire’s eyes (how did that thought even sneak in there), but on the Republic and the cause.

“Well, Courfeyrac, do we have all the guns?” He asked, not wanting to waste any more time. “Feuilly, Combeferre, our time is running short!” Grantaire was still drinking. It was going to keep distracting him, so he turned directly to the man, knowing a subtle hint would be ignored.

“Grantaire, put the bottle down!” he ordered, meeting the other man’s eyes for a moment before turning back to Courfeyrac. “Do we have the guns we need?” Of course, Grantaire couldn’t let it go without a retort.

“Give me brandy on my breath and I’ll breathe them all to death!” he replied. Enjolras froze, turning back sharply. Grantaire snapped his head up just as sharply, his eyes full of shock and trepidation.

Those were his words. There was no mistaking it, no mistaking them.

Grantaire was his soulmate.


	2. Do You Hear the People Sing?

**Enjolras**

Grantaire was his soulmate.

He couldn’t believe it.

Or could he? It did make sense, after all. No matter how much he pretended otherwise, the cynic was never far from his mind. He would never talk about it, not even to Combeferre, but their fights bothered him, their arguments fueled his next speeches, and their conversations kept him smiling long into the night. When he had thought about the idea of a soulmate in the past few months, he hadn’t pictured a faceless man. Now that he thought about it, he had been picturing Grantaire the whole time.

He didn’t hear if his friends responded to his previous questions, too busy turning over the idea of Grantaire being his soulmate in his head.

He thought that Grantaire was with Jehan. Could Grantaire have two soulmates? Or had he just been mistaken?

He looked at Grantaire again. The other man was still looking at him, waiting for a reaction of some kind, perhaps a confirmation of what had just happened. Enjolras could only manage a small smile and a quick nod, an acknowledgment of what they had just become (had always been?) to each other.  Grantaire’s shoulders sagged with what was probably relief.

“Grantaire…” he got out, not sure where to begin. Should he propose right now? No, Grantaire would want to at least talk first. Did Grantaire even like him? Was he upset? “Should we–” He was cut off by Gavroche’s shouting.

“Listen everybody! General Lamarque is dead!”

Lamarque. The timing was terrible. Enjolras was more torn than ever – he wanted to sit, to talk to his soulmate, to figure out what this meant. He looked at Grantaire, not knowing what he expected to see.

Grantaire just gave him a single nod, as if to say ‘go ahead, do this. I’ll be here when you’re done’.

“Lamarque is dead.” Enjolras echoed, the words painful to get out. He had idolized Lamarque, not to mention he was their only ally in the government. “Lamarque…his death is the hour of fate. The people’s man – his death is the sign we await!”

The revolution wasn’t just impending any more. It was here.

**Grantaire**

Of course the best and worst moments of his life would occur within a minute of each other.

First, the man he loved (was he allowed to think that openly now? Would he be allowed to say it?) was actually his soulmate. Which was odd in itself, as he was fairly certain that Enjolras was twenty-six, and they had spoken directly to each other before. Often, even.

Then, the revolution officially began. Soon, he would lose all his friends and his now-soulmate.

Was he allowed to openly stare as Enjolras set concrete plans? Was he allowed to watch as Enjolras jumped on a table and spoke of the people?

He only had so long left to stare, so he would.

Enjolras had said that they would begin building the barricades on Lamarque’s funeral day. It was June 1st, and Lamarque would be buried on the 5th. They had until then.

As Enjolras sent his lieutenants off to finish the preparations, he called out after Grantaire.

“R, will you stay a moment please?” Grantaire nodded – it was not as if he had ever denied anything Enjolras had asked of him. He noticed Combeferre and Courfeyrac glancing at the two of them as they left – of course they would know what Enjolras’s tattoo said. Grantaire signaled to Jehan that he would be fine and walked up to Enjolras.

“Please tell me I didn’t just misinterpret all of this.” Grantaire began.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Enjolras smirked. Grantaire took the challenge, pulling his clothes away to show the words trailing across his hip. He pretended not to notice the way Enjolras followed the curve of his tattoo past where the words ended, a look in his eyes that could almost be lust.

“Your turn.” Grantaire said, his voice coming out deeper than he thought it would. Enjolras began unbuttoning his shirt, a movement that was almost too much for Grantaire, and tugged it to the side to reveal Grantaire’s messy scrawl on his collarbone. “How…? I thought you were twenty-six.”

“I lied.” Enjolras said, meeting his eyes somewhat ashamedly. “I was barely nineteen when I started doing this but I told everyone I was twenty-two. Nobody was going to follow someone so young.”

“I would have.” Grantaire replied, before he could stop himself. “When was your birthday?”

“Yesterday.” Suddenly Courfeyrac’s erratic behavior made sense.

“Does anyone else know?”

“Only Courfeyrac and Combeferre know that I’m twenty-one. They know what my words say too.”

“Jehan knows mine.”

They stood in silence, staring at each other. Grantaire fidgeted uncomfortably, not sure what to do. The fact that he was supposed to love Enjolras more than anything wasn’t weird, as he already did that, but the fact that Enjolras was supposed to care in return was.

“Enjolras?” He asked tentatively. “What do we do now?”

“What do you mean?” asked Enjolras. “We’re soulmates, we fall in love.”

“Too late.” Enjolras looked at him curiously, concern in his eyes.

“If you don’t want to, if it’s too much, if you don’t want me, I understand.” Enjolras said, words spilling out quickly. Grantaire had to bite back a laugh at the idea of not wanting Enjolras.

“No, no, it’s not that.” He said. “It’s just…this is embarrassing.”

“Tell me.” Commanded Enjolras, his face earnest and open. For the first time, Grantaire could see how young he really was. “We’re soulmates, you’re not going to drive me away.”

“I don’t need to fall in love with you. I already love you. I’ve been in love with you since we met.” Grantaire admitted, then sighed bitterly.  “I didn’t think you would ever return the feelings and even if you do now, it isn’t because you actually like me. It’s because I’m your soulmate.” Enjolras visibly recoiled at this

“That’s not how it works, and you know it!” This was an expression Grantaire knew well. The anger was more familiar than compassion, at least when directed towards him. “Soulmates don’t just automatically love each other because of a couple words. Soulmates fall in love with or without the words, it’s just to help us find each other. You’re so wrong!”

“How am I wrong, Apollo? I don’t know if you’re aware, but we already found each other! We’ve known each other for years and I’ve loved you nearly that long, but you didn’t give me the time of day, and now that you have some words on your chest, you will. What did I get wrong?”

“I’m already falling for you!” Enjolras shouted, loud enough to make Grantaire take a step back. “I’ve been falling in love with you for months now, I just didn’t let myself admit it until now!”

Grantaire felt like he was hearing his words all over again, the shock hitting him just as it had the moment he first realized that Enjolras was his soulmate.

“You like me?”

“Grantaire, I love you.” Enjolras smiled, that same small smile he had gifted Grantaire with to acknowledge what was happening. “Every time we have a non-fighting conversation, I smile for hours. I revise all my speeches, thinking of what you will say to them. I complain about your drinking because I see how brilliant you are and it bothers me that you try to lose that in a bottle. I’m always watching you at meetings, I asked you to stop drinking today because you were distracting me.”

“I was distracting you?” Grantaire had, apparently, become a parrot.

“You always distract me. Even when you’re nowhere near me, I’ll be thinking of you.” Enjolras’s voice had gotten quieter now and he looked up through blonde lashes, looking almost bashful. “Please believe me. It’s been going on for months now, and yes, I wouldn’t have done anything about it if not for the tattoo, but that’s not for lack of caring. I love you.”

“And I, you.” Grantaire murmured, head spinning from this turn of events. Enjolras tentatively took a step towards him, and then another, until they were almost touching.

“May I kiss you?” asked Enjolras. Grantaire, his mouth suddenly too dry to speak, just nodded. Enjolras smiled again and then leaned in to press his mouth to Grantaire’s.

He kissed him softly, gently, almost reverently. Grantaire had thought (after a bottle of wine, when he allowed himself to think such thoughts) that he would be dominating, aggressive, as full of violent fervor in this as he was in everything else he did. Instead, he was kinder than Grantaire could imagine; he treated Grantaire as if he was something to be cherished and loved rather than shouted at.  It took his breath away.

“We don’t have very long.” Grantaire murmured, pulling just barely away from Enjolras.

“What do you mean?” Enjolras looked confused. Grantaire hesitated, not wanting to ruin…whatever this was.

“Until the revolution.” He said finally. “We don’t have long until Lamarque’s funeral. And I know you want to be completely focused on the cause.” Enjolras frowned.

“Most of our preparations are finished. We’ve been waiting for something like this to happen.” He said, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s waist. Grantaire had to struggle to focus on what he was saying. “There will be a few things I need to do to prepare in the upcoming days, but until the barricades arise…I am all yours.”

Grantaire took a deep breath at that, at those words he never in a million years expected to hear from Enjolras, least of all directed at him.

“And after that?” Grantaire asked, because he couldn’t just let himself have nice things. Enjolras looked at him sternly.

“I am France’s.” he said, simply, before pausing for a moment. “But in the moments in between the fighting and planning, and after we win…then I am yours again.”

Grantaire swallowed the lump that had appeared in his throat and blinked back the tears that welled up with it. They wouldn’t win. He was almost sure of it.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras’s hands cupped his chin, tilting it up ever so slightly. “Are you okay?” Grantaire nodded, attempting to hide his sadness.

“Kiss me?” he asked, trying not to let his voice tremor. Enjolras obliged, as gently as last time. Grantaire kissed him back, fiercely, challenging him.

Enjolras responded as he always did to Grantaire’s challenges; he doubled the ferocity of his argument, he attempted to overwhelm Grantaire with evidence and passion.

This was much more enjoyable than shouting, though.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Grantaire couldn’t help but notice that Enjolras’s pupils were blown wide, probably matching his.

“Will you…” Enjolras started, and then broke off, stammering a little. “Would you like to come over?” Grantaire nodded, wordless. Enjolras’s face broke into a smile and he grabbed Grantaire’s hand. “Come on then, soulmate.”

Grantaire followed.


	3. A Heart Full of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It felt like something out of a dream.

**Enjolras**

Enjolras led Grantaire by the hand back to his quarters, painfully aware of the way his heart was pounding. He glanced back at Grantaire’s face as they approached his door, not sure what to expect. The other man looked a little confused and a little awestruck.

“You okay?” he asked, hesitating. “You look a little out of it.”

“I’m great.”  Grantaire smiled.

“Are you drunk at all?” Enjolras asked, remembering that Grantaire had been drinking before this had all happened. Grantaire’s entire demeanor changed with his question, his face drawn up tight and unhappy as his shoulders tensed defensively, and Enjolras hated himself a little bit for it.

“I’m fine, Enjolras.” He said sharply, pulling his hand away. Enjolras knew how mercurial Grantaire could be – he should have known better than to comment on drinking.

“I’m not upset or anything!” Enjolras interjected, before Grantaire could continue. “I just know you were drinking and wanted to check in?”

“Since when do you not get upset when I’m drunk?” Grantaire muttered. “This is just the soulmate thing again.”

“Grantaire, I get mad at you at meetings when you are repeatedly drinking and disruptive.” Enjolras sighed. “I get mad because I think you sell yourself short. I get mad because I think you’re brilliant but spend so much time drunk that you don’t really give yourself a chance. I perfectly understand social drinking, or drinking outside of meetings. I just don’t know why you have to be connected to a bottle during them.”

“It hurts to look directly at the sun.” Grantaire said, infuriatingly unclear. “Consider the alcohol my curtain.”

“What sun are you looking at?” Enjolras exclaimed, his voice raised. “You’re just with us! It’s just your friends.” Grantaire scoffed.

“Do you even need to ask, Apollo?” his voice broke slightly as he emphasized the nickname.

Enjolras had been preparing for an argument, but all the fight left him as he realized.

“You drink because of me?” he asked softly, taking a small step back. If Grantaire drank because of him, then maybe…Grantaire would be better off without him. His movements didn’t escape Grantaire’s notice and the other man reached out his hand again. Enjolras knew Grantaire well enough to know that the outstretched hand signaled an end to the argument, and forgiveness on Grantaire’s part.

“Apollo, I’ve been in love with you almost as long as I’ve known you. This isn’t a thing that I thought would happen. Sometimes, it’s easier to be drunk than to deal with the pain of loving someone who you think can never love you back.” He explained, tracing Enjolras’s knuckles with his hand. “And I drink all the time. I’m just explaining why I drink during meetings. Don’t blame yourself. Honestly, I just like a drink. I like the way wine loosens one’s tongue, I like the way the world looks when it’s masked in a green glow. A paintbrush is warmer in my hand when there’s alcohol in my stomach. Don’t get me wrong – I love our friends, and there are times when I would rather be sober than not.  I am not always drunk. But there are some things that scare me to death, and it’s easier to avoid them if everything is a little fuzzy.”  

“Why would you rather hide from your fears than fight to stop them from coming true?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire’s smile was more pained than happy.

“You won’t like the answer.” He said. “Let’s leave it at that for now.  I don’t want to ruin our time together any more than I already have.” Enjolras wanted to push further, but something in Grantaire’s eyes told him that he shouldn’t. 

“Will you explain later?” Enjolras couldn’t help but ask. Grantaire sighed and nodded. “Was that our first fight as a couple?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood

“Are we a couple?” Grantaire’s eyes widened and Enjolras took a step closer to him.

“We’re soulmates.” Enjolras shrugged, leaning in to brush his lips against Grantaire’s. “I told you, I am yours, as much as I can be with the revolution.  If you want to be a couple, then we are. If you want to get married tomorrow, then we will. Anything you want from me, I will give it.”

“I want you to open your door.” Grantaire breathed out, his lips so close to Enjolras’s that he could feel the words. Grantaire’s voice was pitched lower than usual, and Enjolras felt dizzy with desire. He unlocked the door as fast as he could and pulled Grantaire in behind him.

“What do you want from me?” Enjolras asked, turning to face Grantaire again. The other man pulled him in and kissed him fiercely, as he had back at the café, moving them until they were pressed against Enjolras’s wall.

“Everything.” He practically growled, and Enjolras’s knees felt weak.

“Come on, then.” Enjolras pulled away and lead him to his room, where he had examined his tattoo in the mirror only a day ago. They stopped several times to make out, as if they were some teenagers who had only just discovered what kissing was.

Grantaire stopped as they reached his room to smirk at Enjolras. “It looks like a prison cell in here.” He said.

“What did you expect?” asked Enjolras. “We both know I’m rarely here.”

“Of course, the great Apollo does not need creature comforts.” Grantaire teased, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “He is above those mortal things.”

“Shut up.” Enjolras ordered without venom, kissing him to make him stop. “Look at me, R. I’m right here. If I am a god, then you must be too, as there is no doubt in my mind that we are equals.”

“Blasphemy.” Grantaire gasped. He looked as though he would continue, but Enjolras already realized that he had found one thing even Grantaire couldn’t talk through, and kissed him again before he could say anything else.

“Soon you will realize I am anything but above mortal comforts.” Enjolras murmured as he pulled away. Grantaire’s eyes widened at his implication. “Or you will if you stop talking and start undressing.” He tugged at the top of Grantaire’s shirt, fumbling to undo the buttons.

“What a day this has been.” Grantaire said, seemingly to himself. “This morning, I could not bear to look at the sun, and now I am to make love to it.”

“You put me on a pedestal when you should not.” Enjolras said as he succeeded in removing Grantaire’s shirt. “I am flesh and blood, just like you.”

“Yet you burn bright enough to be more.” Grantaire retorted as he returned the favor. “The metaphor writes itself, my dear Apollo.”

“I’m tiring of this conversation – I love metaphors as much as the next man, but I love you more. Be serious for a moment, Grantaire. Kiss me.” Enjolras felt as though he was high, their usual banter irrevocably altered by the words on their bodies and the lust almost palpable.

“I am wild.” Grantaire replied, before complying with his request.

Enjolras could confirm – Grantaire was indeed wild.

**Grantaire**

It felt like something out of a dream. Grantaire couldn’t believe that this was happening, that it was his life. Each time Enjolras looked at him, Grantaire could see the love in his eyes, and he felt so happy that he could barely breathe.

He knew more about Enjolras now, things that felt like such a privilege to know. He knew how his golden hair stuck up when he just woke up, how he sounded when he came, which kisses meant “please take your clothes off now” and which meant “I just want to cuddle”. He knew that Enjolras loved to cuddle, and that he made little huffing noises just as he was falling asleep, that he was somehow both a morning and night person and only napped unwillingly, that he wrinkled his nose up automatically when he smelled food he didn’t like but tried to hide it. Grantaire felt like screaming from joy half the time, a swelling in his heart he could barely contain.

The few days that they spent together seemed to last forever, the Parisian heat seeping in through the windows and making everything feel perfectly sluggish. Grantaire couldn’t think of the last time, if ever, he had felt so content. It wasn’t to last, but even a single second would’ve been worth it.

Enjolras only left his quarters to deal with the revolution, except when they went together to grab some of Grantaire’s clothes, things, and painting material (just in case). Once after a meeting with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, Enjolras came back with a fresh baguette and a bottle of wine that was much nicer than anything Grantaire would buy. He insisted on setting his table with a tablecloth and eating as though they were at a fancy restaurant. Grantaire was so in love.

If Grantaire had thought Enjolras was the sun before this happened, now he was sure of it.  He loved with as much passion as he revolted, and he acted as if each display of love was a speech to convince the populace. He burned just as bright up close as he did from the other side of the Musain.

Grantaire had associated many words with Enjolras during the time they had known each other. Beautiful, terrible, incredible, idealistic, idiotic, and breathtaking, to name a few. A word he never would have associated with him was romantic, but it was undeniable. It was as if the time Enjolras had spent denying himself relationships, he had been building up romantic ideas for when he finally met his soulmate. He made Grantaire dance with him to no music, he fed him bits of food, and he kissed the words on his hip every time he saw them. He would say ridiculously sweet things with no warning, and whisper dirty things whenever the mood struck him. Grantaire was convinced that it would kill him one day.

One time, he rolled over in bed to face Grantaire and muttered “I didn’t think that I would have a soulmate, and I didn’t think that they would matter if I did.”

“I’m sorry to inconvenience you.” Grantaire said lazily, figuring that there was a reason Enjolras brought it up.

“All of those thoughts changed the second you said my words.” He smiled the small, happy smile Grantaire had come to know. “As soon as I realized it was you, I knew that my soulmate mattered more than almost anything.”

“I didn’t think my soulmate would want me.” Grantaire sighed. “Let alone that they would switch to wanting a soulmate when they met me.”

“You were wrong.” Enjolras said, and then grinned deviously. “Who wouldn’t want you?” he said, maneuvering so he was practically on top of Grantaire.

“Monsieur Enjolras, I don’t know if you’re aware of what you’re implying.” Grantaire teased lifting his head enough to kiss the words on Enjolras’s collarbone. Enjolras had thrown his neck back at that, encouraging Grantaire to keep kissing it until the skin underneath his soulmate tattoo was marked with hickeys.

“I am perfectly aware.” Enjolras’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I can’t imagine anyone not wanting you. I’m picky, and God knows that I want you.” He rolled his hips against Grantaire with that last word, leaving him breathless.

It was easy for Grantaire to get lost in the moments with Enjolras. A kiss was never far away, and they didn’t stop touching each other for longer than the length of a bathroom trip. ‘I love you’ seemed to always be on his lips. Grantaire thought that perhaps the revolution had already happened, they had already died, and he was somehow in heaven.

It wasn’t going to last. He had to keep reminding himself of it. He tried not to count down the days, hours, minutes, seconds until they would leave Enjolras’s quarters and never come back. But it was drawing nearer, and Grantaire could feel the anxiety rising in his throat like bile.

In the early hours of June 4th, Enjolras was curled up against Grantaire’s chest like a cat when he raised his head to meet Grantaire’s eyes.

“R?” his voice was as unsure as Grantaire had ever heard him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned.

“Lamarque’s funeral is tomorrow.” Fuck.

“Enjolras…” he said weakly. “I need a drink if we’re going to talk about the revolution.”

“Is this…what you drink to avoid?” He could see the beginnings of realization in Enjolras’s eyes.

“Apollo, I can’t talk about this without a drink. I don’t even want to think about it.” The anxiety threatened to overpower him.

“We could win, Grantaire. We will win. The people will come to our side.” Grantaire loved every bit of Enjolras, even the foolish naivety, but he wished that just this once Enjolras would look at it practically.

“I have never wanted to be wrong more in my life.” Grantaire told him, kissing him on the cheek to soften his disagreement. “I love you. I believe in you. I just don’t believe that the people will rise.”

“I do.” Enjolras said fiercely. Grantaire’s eyes welled with tears – he would give anything to hear those words in a different context but he knew it would not happen. He blinked them away rapidly, attempting to hide them, but Enjolras was too close to not notice. “R…”

“I told you, Apollo. I need a drink before I can begin thinking about this.” He half sobbed.

“Is this what you drink to avoid?” Enjolras asked again.

“Yes, okay? Les Amis are my everything.” he was completely sobbing now. “Every one of my friends, everybody and everything that I care about, are going to be in complete danger.”

“So will you!”

“But I don’t care about my life. I care about theirs. Fuck, I care about yours.” The anxiety was winning. Grantaire was barely able to gasp out words between hyperventilation and tears. “What is the fucking point of a world without you in it?”

“It’s okay. Grantaire, it’ll be okay.” Enjolras murmured, shifting their positions so that he was holding Grantaire instead, rubbing his back steadily. “You don’t have to come to the barricade, R. You can stay here and wait it out until we win.”

“I refuse to fucking live in a world without you.” Grantaire choked out. “That’s the whole point. I don’t want to exist in a world without you in it.” He knew he was being hysterical, but Enjolras just wiped the tears away from his eyes and held him closer.

“You’re coming with us? Even though you don’t believe in it?” Grantaire just nodded against his chest, crying too hard to get any more words out. “Love, listen to me. It’ll be okay. We’ll win. And even if we don’t – although I know we will – we’ll all be together, okay? I won’t ask you to stay back. Please come fight with us. I want you there. And I know I don’t want to live in a world without you anymore, so I can’t ask the same thing of you.”

“You don’t want to live in a world without me?” Grantaire asked, not sure if he had heard correctly. “Even if we won?”

“I’m replaceable to the Republic. You are not replaceable to me.” Enjolras said simply. “That being said, I feel that it is my responsibility to help establish the Republic, and I would fulfill my duty. But…” he shuddered, his seemingly calm demeanor ruined by the tears glimmering in his eyes. “Please do not make me experience that.”

“I’ll do my best.” Grantaire promised, sniffling, finally done with his hysterical sobbing. They dozed off together, with Enjolras’s hands carding through Grantaire’s hair.

When it was fully morning, they woke up again. They sat down for breakfast together, talking softly and never stepping more than a foot away from one another. Grantaire painted the morning in pastels, trying to show the way that the morning was full with equal parts contentment and yearning for the life that might have been. He hoped that whoever came into the apartment next would find his painting and see the way love wove through every little action.

It was the last morning they would have before the revolution.

They undressed and, hours later, dressed again. Grantaire helped Enjolras into his red vest, kissing his neck as he did so.

“To the Musain?” Enjolras asked, his voice shaking almost indiscernibly.

“To the Musain.” Grantaire said, lacing their fingers together. 


	4. One Day More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this a very brief interlude before the next chapter.

**Grantaire**

Grantaire could feel his friends’ shock when he and Enjolras walked into the Musain holding hands. He noticed Courfeyrac and Combeferre smiling slightly, but as far as everyone else knew, Enjolras was twenty-six and they weren’t soulmates. It was weirdly still, with no drinking, no joking, and nobody rushing forward to report to Enjolras.

“I think I speak for everyone when I say this but…what the fuck?” Bahorel said finally, breaking the silence. The tension in the room was relieved a little as the others nodded in agreement.

“We’re together now.” Grantaire shrugged, not wanting to say anything Enjolras wasn’t okay with.s

“Clearly, but….what the fuck?” Bossuet echoed. Grantaire just looked at Enjolras, not willing to elaborate without the other man’s go-ahead.

“I will say it once, but then we need to get to work.” Enjolras sighed. “I lied to all of you, and I’m very sorry for that, but I deemed it necessary. I’m only twenty-one. My birthday was the day before Lamarque died. That day, Grantaire and I realized that we’re soulmates. I had planned on not acting on anything soulmate related, but it seems that this whole thing makes sense, as my soulmate is the only person I would make an exception for anyway. Yes, that’s where we’ve been the past few days, and yes, I love him and did before I knew we were soulmates. Any questions?”

Grantaire laughed to see the stunned looks on everyone’s faces. He made eye contact with Jehan, who looked like he had just died from sheer joy, and winked.

“Wait, were we all there when this happened?” Joly asked suddenly.

“Yeah, it was during the meeting.” Grantaire responded. “We hid it well.” Enjolras squeezed his hand and then moved his arm to wrap around Grantaire’s waist.

“This is so weird.” Feuilly said. Grantaire could feel Enjolras tense defensively – he had expressed some worry that they would be upset that he had gotten in a relationship so soon before the revolution.

“What is?” Enjolras snapped. Of all people to voice doubt, Grantaire wished it hadn’t been Feuilly, since Enjolras admired him so much.

“Just that…you’re with someone?” Feuilly picked up on the irritation in Enjolras’s voice and flapped his hands around ineffectually. “I mean, Enjolras and relationship aren’t really synonymous.” Enjolras relaxed and laughed a little.

“Me either. And yet, here we are.” He may have been replying to Feuilly, but he was looking at Grantaire. To Grantaire’s shock, he ignored the fact that almost all of their friends were staring directly at them, and leaned in to kiss him.

“DISGUSTING. I’M SCARRED FOR LIFE!” Courfeyrac shrieked, and Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh with the rest of the room.

The laughter was disrupted as Marius slumped into the room, looking more disheartened than Grantaire had ever seen him.

“Are you okay?” Jehan asked. “Did you find her?” Marius nodded, inexplicably miserable.

“What’s wrong? Is she okay?” Courfeyrac looked concerned for his friends.

“She’s wonderful!” He sighed. “She’s like an angel, she’s so beautiful and sweet and kind.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Grantaire prompted him, more gently than usual.

“She’s leaving for England, and the revolution is tomorrow, and I might never see her again if I stay, and I just don’t know what to do!” he wailed. In a moment, Courfeyrac was at his side rubbing his back.

“It’ll be okay, Marius.” Courfeyrac murmured. “It’ll be okay.”

“The revolution is tomorrow.” Enjolras said, suddenly. Everyone looked at him confusedly – yes, of course it was. “We have been preparing for this for so long, friends. Tomorrow is the day we’ve been waiting for.”

The demeanor of the room shifted. The casual attitude was gone, the joking only a memory. Grantaire saw his friends’ backs straighten and shoulders square off, and his heart sank. Everyone turned to Enjolras except Marius, who looked as if his heart was breaking.

Guns were distributed without many words, ammo was counted. Grantaire reached for a bottle almost subconsciously, shuddering at the familiar burn in his throat, before joining in the fray. At some point, he caught Gavroche sneaking under a table and swung him onto his shoulders so he could be involved without touching guns. Time was moving in slow motion and Grantaire was numb.

“One more day before the storm at the barricades of freedom.” Enjolras declared, jumping on top of a central table. He turned to where most of them were standing, Grantaire included, and his eyes seemed as if they were on fire. “When our ranks begin to form, will you take your place with me?” Grantaire nodded along despite himself. There was no denying it any more, no avoiding it.

One more day before the storm, indeed. One day to the end – one day until he would lose his life, all of his friends, and the love of his life.

One day more.


	5. Building the Barricade & the First Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so for the purposes of this AU, we will assume that gay marriage is legal, as soulmate parings are more of a norm in society that heterosexuality is. 
> 
> Also, this is where lyrics tend to change between cast productions. I used the lyrics from the International Recording and the Broadway versions; there are some small differences, but it shouldn't matter too much. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'm sorry for the gap in between updates; university has gotten quite intense.

_Grantaire_

The day of Lamarque’s funeral dawned bright and early. Les Amis de l’ABC were still in the Musain, finishing their preparations. The anxiousness in the room was palpable. Grantaire was eyeing Enjolras nervously, aware of how little sleep the man had gotten. Perhaps it was time to stop worrying about that, as Enjolras would surely not sleep again.

“Grantaire, come with me.” Enjolras commanded from across the room. “Everyone, we’re ready. Take a break. We move out in half an hour.” Grantaire dutifully followed Enjolras into a nearby side room.

“What’s wrong?” Grantaire asked, shutting the door behind him as he entered. “You should be taking a break.” Enjolras pulled him close, his eyes dark, and kissed him without answering.

“Listen, Grantaire.” He said when they finally broke apart. “I know you don’t believe in our chances, but suspend that disbelief for a moment. For me.”

“Apollo…”

“None of that Apollo bullshit.” Enjolras ordered, his voice making Grantaire’s knees weak. “Not right now. I told you when this began that I am yours in the moments in between our revolution. Do not place me among the gods, place me at your side.”

“Enjolras, you’re worrying me,” he murmured. “Are you okay?”

“I’m perfect.” Enjolras said, fidgeting slightly. Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him.

“You seem nervous. It’s understandable.” He tried to keep his voice calm.

“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

Grantaire wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t for Enjolras to drop to one knee in front of him.

“Marry me?” Enjolras asked, somehow pulling out a ring. When did he even get that? Grantaire thought he might be going into shock. “I know you don’t believe we’ll win, but I do. And when we win, I want you to be with me. And as the Republic is formed, I want you to be at my side.”

“I’m always at your side.” Grantaire murmured. “You don’t need a ring to ensure that.”

“But I want one,” he said. “Grantaire, as ridiculous as it sounds, I am incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying without you with me.”

“You don’t mean that, Apollo.”

“You will see.” Enjolras replied gravely.

“Enjolras! Be serious!” Grantaire exclaimed. “You were fighting for freedom years before you met me! Your whole life has been leading up to this fight. You would be revolting with or without me.”

“It is much dearer to fight for a country when there is one you love living within it.” Enjolras explained. “Maybe I could have done it before, but now that I know you I am incapable of doing any of it without you. I have been falling in love with you for so long now. I just didn’t let myself acknowledge it. So again, I must ask you. When the sun dawns upon the new world, when our barricades succeed: will you marry me?”

“Yes.” Grantaire relented. “Of course. What kind of madness would it be to refuse the love of a god?” Enjolras rolled his eyes as Grantaire bent down to kiss him.

“Let me see your hand, then.” Enjolras smiled, grabbing his left hand and slipping on a silver ring with two stones embedded within it: green and red.

“Complimentary colors.” Grantaire noticed. Enjolras blushed. “When did you get this?”

“The last time I left my quarters without you.” He explained. “I got this one because, well, I noticed you always wear green and you seem to love it, and seeing them together kind of…made me think of us?” His usual eloquence was gone and his face matched the red stone in the ring.

“It’s perfect.” Grantaire beamed at him, and then tugged him up to kiss him again. “C’mon, I want to kiss my fiancé.” Enjolras’s eyes lit up at the term and he obliged quite eagerly.

Grantaire wasn’t sure how much later it was when a rap came on the side room door.

“Oi, lovebirds!” Courfeyrac called. “As sweet as I’m sure you’re being, we have a government to overthrow.”

They broke apart reluctantly.

“Come on, Apollo. The revolution is calling you.” Grantaire smiled sadly.

_Enjolras_

They reached the site of the barricade without any trouble, each carrying a chair or two which they set down.

“Here upon these stones we will build our barricade!” Enjolras announced, his heart pounding in his ears. Grantaire was right: he had spent his whole life preparing for this. “In the heart of the city we claim as our own. Each man to his duty - and do not be afraid.” His friends turned faithfully, ready to build the barricade that would – hopefully – save their lives and birth a new nation. “Wait!” He had already forgotten something. How could he be so foolish? It was too early to make mistakes. “I will need a report on the strength of the foe.”

When a citizen volunteered, Enjolras thought he might cry. An old member of the National Guard was coming forward to support them, to risk his life for the sake of the Republic. He had been right: the people would fight.

He tried to pretend that he wasn’t watching Grantaire out of the corner of his eye, seeing the way his arms flexed attractively as he heaved tables and wardrobes higher and higher. He tried to hide his grin every time the stones on Grantaire’s ring caught the light, but he felt as though he was high with joy.

It was not the time to get distracted from The Cause, however. Enjolras and Combeferre spent much of the morning going over plans of attack and possible situations. They had a fairly secure food stock built up in the buildings behind them, and (to the delight of the others) the bar right behind them had a supply of alcohol big enough to last even Grantaire for a month. The danger was not in running out of food, but ammunition. They had scrounged as much as they could for months, but ammunition was always a scarce commodity.

The morning flew by quickly; the barricade was built in a second. It was only minutes before the firing began.

“Citizens!” Enjolras called. “Friends.” They gathered around him naturally. He noticed that a bottle had found its way into Grantaire’s hands, but between seeing the ring on the hand he had wrapped around the bottle’s neck and the undeniable fear in his eyes, he couldn’t begrudge him that. “The revolution has begun. Look at what we have built. This is the first step to a new Republic, but we must hold it with all our strength.”

Shouts of affirmation rang out amongst his friends.

“Let’s swear an oath to it!” Feuilly yelled. The others roared in agreement and Enjolras nodded his head. “Pledge with me to hold the barricade!”

“Now we pledge ourselves to hold this barricade!” they echoed dutifully.

“Let them come in their legions, and they will be met.” Marius jumped up, showing more revolutionary fervor than he had since meeting Cosette.

“Have faith in yourselves, and do not be afraid.” Enjolras reminded them, his heart swelling with pride.

Even Grantaire seemed caught up in the emotions surrounding him, to Enjolras’s delight. “Let’s give them a screwing they’ll never forget!” he yelled, winking at Enjolras. Enjolras could feel his cheeks warm – he knew all too well that Grantaire could do that.

“This is where it begins!” Combeferre practically screamed. Enjolras beamed at the sight of his usually stoic friend waving a flag, cheeks flushed with excitement.

“If I should die in the fight to be free…” Courfeyrac began, causing them all to flinch. “Where the fighting is hardest – there I will be!” Everyone yelled their agreement.

“Let them come if they dare! We’ll be there!” Feuilly ended among cheers.

Enjolras was heartened by his friends’ enthusiasm – if even Grantaire would cheer alongside them, they were sure to win.

It would only get better from here, he was sure.

_Grantaire_

 He could see the exact moment Enjolras began to be really, truly scared, and he wanted to kill the man who caused it. The man was unshakable as they heard the National Guard coming closer, and he laughed in the face of the Guard soldier’s warnings, but when a fellow citizen betrayed them, he went as white as a ghost.

Grantaire had never actually felt the desire to harm someone, not really, until Gavroche revealed that Javert was a police spy. Then, he watched as Enjolras’s face twisted with anger and his back straightened with determination – and how his eyes filled with fear and realization that not every citizen could be trusted. He almost wanted to shoot Javert for putting that expression on Enjolras’s face.

Grantaire lost any last bit of hope he had for their survival in that moment. It wasn’t exactly a good omen.

He wanted to pull Enjolras aside and check in with him, but the world was moving too fast for that. Enjolras was terrible in that moment, ordering to hold the man prisoner and possibly kill him without a moment’s consideration. Grantaire couldn’t begrudge him this, of course, as he would do the same. Around him, his friends were seething with anger as Javert renounced their court.

“Though we may not all survive here, there are things that never die.” Combeferre spat back at him.

“What’s the difference?” Grantaire scoffed, looking at Javert. “Die a schoolboy, die a policeman, die a spy?” He caught Enjolras’s eye then, only to see (if possible) more fear.

“Take this man, bring him through.” Enjolras commanded, clearly choking down his worries. “There is work we have to do.”

They froze for a moment, Enjolras’s eyes locked with Grantaire’s. Bahorel and Bossuet dragged Javert away, leaving the rest of Les Amis in terse, angry silence

“There’s a boy climbing the barricade!” Joly shattered the tension with news even worse than Gavroche’s.

Grantaire couldn’t do anything but watch as a girl he did not know died in Marius’s arms. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the blood seeping through her blouse, dripping onto the ground and mingling with Marius’s tears there. He knew that people would die, of course. He predicted it, even. But it was one thing to know it was coming and another to witness it himself. His eyes welled up with tears at her last breath and he bowed his head with the others.

Enjolras spoke again, clapping a hand to Marius’s shoulder in an unusual gesture of camaraderie: a different speech than his usual ones of assured success and belief in the people. Grantaire couldn’t help but scoff at the idea of fighting in this girl’s (Éponine, Marius said) name, saying she would not die in vain – of course she had died in vain. They all would.

He moved as if in a dream to help carry her body into the room they had prepared in the bar to put and help the injured. If only there was somebody to heal, rather than a body to cover with a blanket.

Any hope he had of speaking to Enjolras was gone by the time he returned, as he was dealing with a man in uniform who had clambered over the barricade just as the warning call came again. This time, though, it was the National Guard approaching: fifty men or more.

Grantaire moved naturally to Enjolras’s side. The only reason he was here was for his friends and his soulmate, so he would protect that soulmate as much as he could. He followed him up to the highest point on the barricade that still offered cover and aimed his gun over the leg of a chair.

“Fire!” Enjolras cried. Grantaire obliged.

His ears rang with the sound of shots and his eyes watered with the gunpowder in the air. Everything seemed grimy, except the man beside him. He was the untouchable Achilles on the Trojan battlefields; blood did not dare touch his cheek. The glow of the setting sun caught his golden hair. He looked as if he was on fire, semi-divine.

“Sniper!” the volunteer in uniform warned. Grantaire spun around to see a sniper pointing directly at Enjolras. He acted without thinking; throwing himself in front of Enjolras’s chest. The sniper was swift, but the volunteer who had warned them was faster: he shot the sniper just before he could pull the trigger, sending him backwards onto the other side of the barricade.

“Look how they turn and run!” Bossuet cried. Grantaire realized that while he was caught up in the drama of a sniper attack, their friends had scared away their attackers.

“And so the war was won!” he grinned, looking at Enjolras. To his shock, Enjolras looked furious.

“They will be back again.” Enjolras reminded everyone sternly. “Make an attack again.” He turned to thank the volunteer, making some deal that Grantaire could not quite hear. The volunteer went off to where they were holding Javert and Enjolras turned back to Grantaire.

“Grantaire. A word?” his voice was full of barely-concealed rage. Grantaire could only nod and follow him into the bar.

“What did I do?” asked Grantaire, confused. Usually he knew what he had done to piss Enjolras off, but this time he was at a loss.

“What the hell are you playing at?” Enjolras yelled, running his hands through his hair.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Grantaire raised his hands in defense.

“You! Throwing yourself in front of me!” Enjolras was bucking down for a fight. Grantaire could only respond to his fury.

“Yeah, to stop you from getting shot by a sniper!”

“So that they can get you instead? Why didn’t you just shove me out of the way?”

“It was a split second decision, Apollo! I wasn’t exactly weighting the pros and cons! I just didn’t want you to get shot!”

“And you think I want you to die?”

“No! I just think you’re a lot more valuable to this revolution than I am. It would have the same chance of success with me dead or alive. The others need you! I’m worthless!”

“You are not worthless!”

“What am I even contributing here? A working trigger finger? I would rather die than watch you get shot when I could’ve stopped it!”

“Neither of us have to die! None of Les Amis have to die! The deaths can begin and end with Éponine!”

“Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, Apollo.”

“You’ve never believed in our revolution. Why are you even here?”

“I thought you just said I wasn’t worthless, and yet you ask why I’m here. Why don’t you figure that one out for yourself?”

“Why do you refuse to accept the fact that we might actually win?” They were both breathing hard now. This fight hurt more than the others had: maybe from the knowledge that this was one of the last times that Grantaire would get to speak to Enjolras, maybe because of the fact that the last time they had fought like this had been before they knew what they could be to each other.

“Why do you refuse to accept the fact that you have a one percent chance of succeeding in this? You – we – will all be dead by this time tomorrow!”

“No, we will not, Grantaire! You are insufferable!”

“I thought you just asked to suffer me for the rest of your incredibly short life?” Grantaire spat out finally, feeling a little as though his heart was breaking. Enjolras stopped short, looking as though he had just been punched in the gut.

“Oh, god, Grantaire. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” Enjolras said quietly, reaching for his hand. “Grantaire…I didn’t mean that…”

“No, Apollo.” Grantaire yanked his hand out of reach. “I think you did.” He spun on his heel and stalked out of the bar, grabbing a bottle of something as he did so. He ignored Enjolras’s protestations behind him, no matter how much it hurt. There was an easy way to numb the pain.


End file.
